Enjoy...
1
Good Advice
them down with a clang. The damn things itched, they were heavy and terribly awkward.
She felt like they were three sizes too big.
“Ugh,” she groaned. She’d been doing the weekly radio show for six weeks already
and sometimes questioned her decision. This wasn’t her. She was a clinical psychologist,
for God’s sake. She spent her days getting paid $450 per hour to help people deal with
real life problems, not make spectacles of themselves in a public forum.
She’d worked her ass off to get where she was, literally and figuratively. Growing up
poor, she had few prospects and opportunities like Northwestern University didn’t just
happen for girls from Joplin, Missouri. Her father, Joseph, was the janitor at the high
school and Angel’s mother had run off when she was a baby, leaving a broken man
without the skills needed to handle an infant. Angeline had her share of bumps since then,
but with a lot of smarts and guts, she’d managed to make something of herself. Now, she
was in a position to take care of her father financially and to use her education to help
people. Really help people. This radio gig… this was fluff, but it served a purpose, and it
helped take her mind off of the more dangerous characters she dealt with on a regular
basis.
“Angel, what’s the problem?” her producer, Darian Keith, asked. He was clearly
impatient with her as she ran her hand through her long dark hair, scratching her scalp in
reaction to the headphones. Darian was a great guy and professional, as far as she knew
about him, which wasn’t much. A slender African American, he was dressed in jeans and
a light blue T-shirt under his dark blue blazer. He had an easygoing demeanor that Angel
instantly liked.
She smirked at his mocking tone, as she pushed the necessary buttons on the
computer to play the commercials and cue up the next song. The phone lines in front of
her began blinking red.
“It’s just… Well, so many of these callers are so freaking naïve! Most of them are
women, which I know is to be expected, but it burns my ass how they let men treat them
the way they do! Gah!” She reached for a big sports bottle full of ice water that she kept
on the desk at all times and took a long drink.
Darian chuckled softly, causing Angel to shoot him a caustic look.
“What?” she asked impatiently.
“As we promote it more, men will call, and you’ll have perspective from both sides.
Guys struggle with relationships, too.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “I know, Darian. I do have a doctorate in clinical psychology.
I get that men and women are equally screwed up; don’t worry.”
She was a slight young woman with delicate facial features, luminous skin, and
thick, flowing chestnut locks that had a soft auburn sheen to them in certain light. She
looked too young to be a high-powered force in Chicago’s child abuse network, yet her
evaluations of suspects and victims could make or break a court case. Angel was proud of
her work and had been somewhat hesitant when Darian proposed she host a late night
radio show about relationships on his soft-rock formatted station. At first she’d scoffed,
tapping her expensive high-heeled Prada’s on the gleaming cherry wood floor and
crossing her arms over her navy blue Givenchy suit, openly mocking the opportunity.
It had taken some convincing, but eventually she’d given in, thinking it would be fun
and much more lighthearted than her nine-to-five gig. Mostly, it was his promise to
donate airtime to domestic and child abuse public service announcements that clinched
her decision. It was a damn good thing she’d agreed to the trade. The station would go
broke paying up, despite the advertising revenues increasing during her time slot, 10 PM
to 2 AM every Friday night.
“Lighten up, Angel. This is all in good fun and to improve ratings.” He smirked.
Christina Michaels, the rookie production intern, knocked on the window, and Angel
glanced her way. She was blonde and spunky, a tomboy of sorts with short hair and a
turned-up nose. Holding up two fingers, she indicated that they would go back on air in a
couple of minutes. “Line three, Angel.”
As Angel grabbed the offending headset and mashed them down over her ears,
Darian admired the way her firm breasts pressed against the front of her white T-shirt as
her arms lifted. She looked a million miles away from the polished, aloof woman he’d
met five months earlier in her office downtown. He mentally shook himself. She was
damn sexy. So confident and self-assured, yet her curves were soft and womanly.
Darian was slightly chagrined because Angel seemed untouchable and too good to be
true. It didn’t matter anyway; he was her boss, and there was no way he could date her,
even if she allowed it. He consoled himself by considering that looking at her alone made
missing his normal Friday boy’s night out worth it. After she and Chris got the hang of
what he expected, he’d be able to skip being in the studio if he wanted. Somehow his
buddies weren’t as appealing as they once were. He sighed in regret.
Darian adjusted his own headphones. “Okay, counting down: five, four…” He held
up his hands and used his fingers to communicate the rest. Three, two, one, he signaled
for her to begin.
“Hello, it’s 12:35 AM and this is Angel After Dark, taking your calls for advice and
dedications, here with Christina Michaels, screening your calls and our producer, Darian
Keith.” Angel’s sultry voice purred into the microphone as she pushed one lit-up button
on the phone in front of her. “Hello, you’re on the air. Do you have a question? Or,
maybe a confession?”
Darian’s ears perked up, and he began to write furiously on the legal pad next to him.
Jesus, she was hot.
“Hello, is this Dr. Hemming?” a woman’s timid voice asked on the other end of the
phone. “Am I on the air?”
“Yes. This is Angeline. What can I help you with tonight?” Dr. Hemming seemed so
formal for this type of venue and somehow, being called Angeline or Angel made it more
acceptable that she was using her education in a less professional way. She inwardly
cringed at the thought.
The woman’s voice cracked as she sobbed softly into the phone. “My boyfriend… I
found out—he’s married!”
Oh, hell! Angel thought and pointed to the headset, mouthing the word ‘See?’ to the
man sitting opposite her. Darian smiled and plopped back in his chair with a sardonic
look on his face as he carefully watched Angel’s facial expressions change from disgust
to calm acquiescence.
“What is your name, honey?” Angel’s voice took on the reserved, placating tone she
used on the air.
“Celeste. What should I do?”
She sounded very young. Angel was only 28, but hell, this girl sounded like she was
barely out of high school. Angel’s heart ached for the young woman’s plight, wondering
how any woman would ever get involved with a man who wasn’t available.
Oh, that’s right. Men lie.
Her professional alter ego mentally bitch slapped her to reinforce she wasn’t
supposed to stereotype. This wasn’t about her own experiences with men, it was about
this poor girl on the phone. She swallowed before continuing.
“That’s a very pretty name. I’m very sorry you’re going through that. I could ask you
a lot of background about the situation, but it won’t change the fact that he’s married. He
had no business messing with you under these circumstances. It wasn’t fair to you or his
wife.”
“But… but, he said he loves me… I didn’t mean…” she cried—“I didn’t know!”
“Celeste, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but this is a self-destructive
position you’re in. People say things in the heat of passion to get things they want, but
deep down they may not mean them.” Angel winced as the sobbing on the phone
increased but she pressed on. “How did you find out?”
“His wife called me. She found my number in his cell phone. I thought it was him
when I answered, and it was horrible.” Angel sat back in her chair and sighed heavily.
She wanted to rant at the girl for being so fucking stupid. “She called me a whore. But he
said he was going to leave her.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“When I confronted him.”
Angel’s eyebrows raised in an expression of incredulity. Then she shook her head in
disbelief. Oh, for Christ’s sake, she thought.
“And you’re still seeing him?” When met with silence, Angel continued. “Celeste,
I’m here to help you. So, I want you to see that he is making a choice, just like you are.
You have a choice here, too.”
“Ye—yes,” the caller stammered.
“He’s still with his wife, isn’t he?” It was more of a statement, which was confirmed
when Celeste didn’t answer. “Please stop listening to his words, and start looking at his
actions. He’s got it made. She’s not leaving, you’re not leaving, so what’s his motivation
to change and give either of you what you need?” Angel tried to keep her voice even, but
an angry flush was coming up under the skin of her face and neck. “It’s both of the
women in this situation that are being hurt. You have to step back and look at this
objectively. How does he make you feel? And I don’t mean during sex or when he’s
trying to convince you that you’re the love of his life. I mean when you’re sitting in the
dark alone, and he’s gone home to his wife.”
“Horrible. Lonely. I’m heartbroken. It hurts.” The girl snuffled.
“I know it hurts, and you deserve so much more. You deserve to be the only one, to
be cherished and loved. Not used when it’s convenient.”
“You’re right,” Celeste admitted reluctantly.
“Good. So what are you going to do?”
After a pause, the woman answered. “End it.”
“Good girl. You’re doing this for yourself, Celeste. He’ll probably beg and plead,
that’s how men like him manipulate women. But stay strong, and don’t give in to his
bullshit. Go find someone who deserves you. Okay, honey?”
“Okay. Thank you, Dr. Hemming,” she sniffed.
“You’re welcome. Call me in a few weeks to let me know how you’re doing. Be
strong, Celeste.”
Angel took a deep breath. The anger on her face was clear in the tight line of her
mouth and the furrow between her neatly waxed brows. She shook her head, and Darian
wondered if she was going to say something derogatory about that last caller’s guy. He
waved his hands and shook his head. One thing he’d learned in the short time he’d known
Angeline Hemming: she took no prisoners and spoke her mind without thinking about it
first.
No, Angel. Don’t cuss out the bastard, his mind raced. Not on live air.
“Well, this is Dr. Angeline Hemming,” Angel said as she took the next call, “What is
your confession?”
Darian breathed a sigh of relief.
“I confess that I’m sick to death of my boyfriend’s arrogant, offhanded manner and
the way he treats me!”
“What’s your name?”
“Whitney,” the woman spat as if she hated her own name.
“Well, Whitney, you sound pretty sure of yourself, so I bet you already know the
answer that you’re seeking,” she laughed into the microphone. “It’s refreshing, actually,”
Angel said dryly, the corners of her mouth turning up in amusement.
“He’s turned into such a bastard! He totally takes me for granted. I mean, I give him
everything, and he doesn’t even know I exist! He works all the time, and we never go
anywhere that isn’t a company obligation or charity thing. He spends most of his free
time with his damn friends, and when we do have sex, he leaves right after.”
Ugh. I know the type, she thought and leaned her chin into her hand, elbow resting on
the desk. The index finger on her other hand absentmindedly drew patterns across the
smooth surface. “Do you live with him?”
“No. He, uh, well, I have my own place. Lately, I feel like we hardly see each other
and when we do, it’s because I’ve asked to see him. And, then he turns it around on me…
saying I nag him.”
“Um, yes, I can see why you’d be upset. So… I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”
she asked flatly. Darian threaded his hands together behind his head as his face twisted in
a weird way. Angel shot him a questioning look. He shook his head and pointed toward
the phone.
“Exactly. He’s out with his rat pack tonight, and I’m stuck in my apartment. He’ll
probably come back and expect me to service him.”
Angel sat up in her chair. “Oh, boy’s night out? Well, I think that’s good for men on
occasion—male bonding and all—but not if he disrespects you in the process. Except,
why are you stuck? Why aren’t you out yourself? Let him know that you’re not sitting
around waiting. You should show him you have your own life.”
Whitney sighed heavily and her voice was flat. “He wouldn’t care.”
“Whitney, I don’t understand. You seem to be a very smart woman. You clearly see
the problem; so why aren’t you doing something about it? Why would you want to be
with a man who doesn’t care about you? Take back your power.”
“Are you kidding? He’s got the power in everything! It’s just that… well, he’s
everything I want in a man!” the woman whined.
“That’s not what it sounds like to me. You have to figure out what you need and
what you’re willing to accept. What’s his first name?” She liked to have names to put
with personas in her calls. It somehow made it more real, more personal.
“Alexander.” The answer was detached, and Angel wondered if the man was the
only one to blame.
Darian ran a hand over his mouth. “Fuck!” he said under his breath and sat up
straighter.
“Well, have you told Alexander how you feel? What you need? I think as women,
we tend to want men to anticipate our every need, but that’s not always realistic.
Sometimes they need to be told. They don’t process things in the same way we do. You
can’t expect to get what you want if you don’t ask for it.”
“Ugh, that’s so unromantic! I want him to know what I need and provide it for me. I
want him to want to provide it.”
“Whitney, you need to talk to him, but don’t sound whiney or needy when you do it.
Tell him what you need and then go from there.”
“He’s been so withdrawn from me. I hardly know him anymore,” she said miserably.
“He makes me feel… invisible. But I can’t seem to leave him.”
“What do you like about him?”
“He’s gorgeous, successful, and wealthy. He’s an executive of a huge company, and
he takes care of me. He’s the type of guy I need to be with.”
Angel’s brow dropped and her eyes narrowed in understanding. This woman wasn’t
all she pretended to be.
“Whitney, forgive me, but is this about love or status?” There was silence on the
other end of the line, so Angel continued after a few seconds. “What would make you
feel visible?” Angel asked while secretly cringing, waiting for the unwanted answer she
knew was to follow.
“It is about love!” she retorted sharply, a little too sharply for someone supposedly
heartbroken. Angel’s eyebrows shot up in doubt, and Darian sat as still as a statue. “He
just needs to pay attention to me, take me out, and come over more.”
“Well, then try to work it out. Ask him what he needs from you as well. Chances are
he’s not getting all he needs either. Men stay with women who make them feel good
about themselves.”
“He’s not leaving… he’s just distant.”
Darian was cranking his right hand in a circle, motioning for Angel to wrap it up
before another commercial break.
“I have to go to commercial, Whitney, but if he’s checked out of the relationship,
maybe he has a reason. If you think he’s insensitive or disinterested after you discuss this
with him, then maybe you should consider your options. If you love each other, he’ll
want to talk to you and work it out, but you have to tell him the truth. Good luck.” She
ended the call. “I’ll be right back with more calls and dedications.”
As the commercials played, Darian sat in silence.
“What were those faces about?” Angel asked.
“Mmmm—I think I know her. And if that’s who I think it is, she’s not telling the
whole story.” His expression filled with disgust.
Angel smiled at him. “There usually are two sides to everything but I’m at a
disadvantage here. I only get to hear one.”
“In this case, that is too true. She’s dating my best friend. He will be so pissed when
he finds out she’s calling and talking about him on air. I hope that not many people put
two and two together, because he’s not exactly low key in this town. All she wants is the
status, the material shit he represents, and his dick.”
“Nice! Why does it always come down to someone’s dick, huh?” she laughed. “Is
she telling any part of the truth? Be honest.”
He bristled. “Well, Alex doesn’t get involved like that. He’s very focused on his
work, and he’s successful because of it.”
“Sounds like every woman’s dream guy. Truly,” she scoffed. “So she was telling the
truth.”
Darian rose in defense of the faceless Alex. “It works for him. He’s very clear going
in that it’s not going to be a love affair, and if the woman enters into it thinking that she
can change him, that’s not his fault.”
Angel stopped and shot him a warning look, her dark brown eyes flashing sharply.
“You didn’t just say that did you, Darian?” She shook her head and huffed. “That’s
so typical! Nice attempt to justify using someone. What do you and Mr. Perfect think
happens to a woman who is with a man for any length of time, hmmm? I’ll tell you. She
either falls in love or walks away. Clearly, your friend knows how this shit works; hence
his carefully laid out escape clause. I mean, if he’s as brilliant as both you and this
Whitney woman would have me believe, he knows full well what he’s doing and what
will happen eventually,” Angel retorted with a sly smile.
Darian thought Angel was too damn smart for her own good, and pair that with her
sexy little bod and business suit—watch out. She was like napalm.
“No. Whitney isn’t in love. She’s a greedy bitch, and I think Alex may pick them
based on that particular feature, because he has the means to fulfill that need. His
relationships are all about convenience. They’re consenting adults that both get
something they need from the other.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Hans Christian Andersen. Maybe if you repeat it enough
your little fairy tale will become reality. In anything beyond a fling, someone falls in
love, and if the other doesn’t feel the same way or acknowledge it, there’s a big pain-fest.
It’s not some cataclysmic secret of the universe. It’s a big, ‘duh.’ Your friend wants
someone who needs him financially, because it gives him all of the control.”
Darian really couldn’t argue her point, and he didn’t want to. Alex did like to keep
control. Of everything. “What about you? Do you have a man? You’re a beautiful
woman, Angel.”
“You’re kidding, right? The guy would have to be wow.”
Darian huffed, put off at the thought that this woman he’d placed on a pedestal,
would be lowered to a level the likes of the nefarious and money-grubbing Whitney.
Angel’s eyebrow shot up at the expression on his face, and she put a hand up.
“Hold up. Not necessarily in looks, but certainly in character. I’m not saying I’m
against having a relationship, but after listening to all of this crap? Ugh. I know what I
want and what I will accept. My boundaries are firmly established and I have no problem
walking if my needs aren’t met. I certainly wouldn’t be so insecure to put up with this
type of one-sided bullshit.”
“What about sex?” His dark gaze settled on her face, and his eyes narrowed. She
knew that look. She’d seen it many times before. It was the predator, sizing up its prey,
trying to figure out if the kill was worth the chase.
“I’m not sure this is an appropriate convo to be having with my producer, but since
this show is what it is, I’ll answer. Sex is sex,” she shrugged. “I’m not a prude. Physical
release is part of being healthy on many levels. Men aren’t the only ones that can leave
emotion at the door for some good old fashioned bump and grind.” She bit her lower lip,
trying to hide a smile at the shocked look on his face. “When I need it, I have… options.”
Darian opened then shut his mouth again.
Good. Serves you right, asshole, she thought. “Not all women can handle that. Some
can. Generally speaking, it’s like I said, short-term is okay with no strings attached, but
that’s it.”
“What an intriguing image, Angel. Thank you,” Darian answered cautiously.
“Well, don’t get too excited, boss. You’ll be disappointed.”
Darian doubted that he would be. In fact, if he wasn’t careful, his imagination was
going to give him a very tangible problem, so he decided it was time to change the
subject.
“I got the promo images back. They look hot. The phones will be ringing off the
hook next week.”
“I have to get back to work, you know? My boss will have my ass if I screw this up.”
He was pulling out his cell phone and leaving the sound booth. “You do that. Do you
have it from here? I’d like to go meet my boys.”
“Another boy’s night aficionado?” Darian nodded. “It’s sort of late, but go ahead.”
Angel waved him out and glanced at the clock. Only five minutes to go.
“It’s Friday night in Chicago, Angel. The clubs are open until four in the morning.
You really should get out more,” Darian said as the door closed behind him.
“I’d like to dedicate Between the Lines by Sara Bareilles to Celeste and all of you
who have realized that the truth has been staring you straight in the face but you didn’t
want to see it. We’ve all done it at one time or another, but we need to learn from our
experiences.” Angel drew in a deep breath and cued up the song. “It’s important to take
care of yourself, because ultimately, it comes down to you. Thank you for all your calls
and dedications. This is Angel After Dark on KKIS 105.4 FM. I’ll see you next week.
Peace and love.”
*****
Alexander Avery was leaning up against the mahogany bar of one of the most popular
clubs on Rush Street. His brother, Cole, was hitting on some trashy looking babe at the
end of the bar, and Alex was bored with the whole scene. The scotch burned in his throat
as he casually looked around. The interested glances of the many women there did not
escape his attention, but left him unmoved. He ran his hand over the soft layer of scruff
on his jaw and sighed.
Maybe I’m getting old, he thought, but Jesus Christ! I’m only thirty-two. There was a
time when he would have jumped on that shit. Now, while it flattered him, it offered
limited stimulation. He had yet to find a woman who moved him as much mentally as she
did physically, which could be the huge source of his apathy, he admitted.
Maybe it was Whitney’s incessant whining that made his dick go limp, or maybe it
was his mother’s demands that it was time he settled down. Between the two of them, he
thought his fucking head would explode. Alex glanced in Cole’s direction again and
rolled his eyes at his brother’s expression. Cole raised his head from the woman he was
talking to and nodded as if to say ‘oh yeah, I’m gonna hit this’.
As for Alex, he wasn’t into one-night stands. Not anymore. He hadn’t been that
careless since college, preferring to have monogamous relationships but yet,
unemotional. It was a tricky situation and a fine line to walk, but he was a man, and he
needed sex. He just preferred it without all the emotional bullshit that came with it, and
he made that clear to every woman he got involved with. The problem was; they always
seemed to have a hidden agenda, no matter what they agreed to up front. Whitney had
turned from being a confident, aggressive sexual partner into a whining, mewling mess
he could barely tolerate. That situation had to end, but he wasn’t looking forward to the
actual confrontation.
As if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and pulling it out, he saw that it was a
text from her.
“Where are you? Come over. I miss seeing you.”
He was still looking at the screen when Darian finally arrived. They met in graduate
school, both pursuing MBAs and had been friends ever since. Alex’s degree was in
economics and finance and Darian’s in marketing and communications. Alex’s family
owned a conglomerate of businesses, and he was CFO of the parent company. He’d come
back to Chicago after a short stint in New York City at a huge investment firm, and he’d
been very smart about investing at Avery Enterprises as a result of his experience. The
company had new resources and was able to acquire several smaller companies under his
watch. Some observers might call it luck, but his father and the board of directors knew it
was shrewd business dealings and rock solid negotiation skills combined with know-how
to turn failing businesses around.
“It’s about damn time, man. Where have you been?” Alex growled as he shoved his
phone back in his pocket without answering Whitney’s text.
Darian leaned in casually and ordered a beer from the bartender. “If you’d listen to
your friends, Alex, you’d know that I have that new radio show at the station.”
Alex vaguely remembered Darian mentioning a hot psychologist that he was trying
to land for that gig several weeks back, but had lost track of when it was supposed to
happen or even it if materialized.
At the time, Alex had been skeptical and teased him. “How can a psychologist be
hot? Probably wears Mary Janes and bifocals, and can freeze ice in her vagina,” he’d
mocked.
“Dude. She is. Trust me,” Darian had retorted with a laugh, but the subject had been
dropped.
“Oh, sure. How is that going?”
“It’s doing well. The promotion is starting Monday, and I expect the phones to ring
off the wall. Dudes will be clamoring to talk to her when they see what she looks like, but
she is one tough cookie. She’ll make hamburger out of them. I’m expecting to laugh my
ass off.” Darian smiled as he took a long pull on his longneck beer.
“Hmmph,” Alex scoffed, unimpressed. “Whatever.”
Darian just stared and shook his head at his friend’s disbelief.
“What’s your problem?” Alex asked at Darian’s expression. He ran a hand through
his thick midnight hair and took a swallow from his glass.
“You mean… what’s your problem, don’t you?” Darian scowled.
“Listen, if you have something to say, I wish you’d just say it. I’ve had a rough
week, and I’m wound too tight to have you dancing around something you clearly want
to say.”
“Ah. Things not so good with Whitney?” Darian’s eyebrows shot up in mock
inquisition.
His relationships weren’t something Alex discussed in great detail. His friends knew
he saw women as a convenient way to sate sexual urges and fulfill business obligations,
but he never talked about them much. Darian was aware that Alex had yet to meet a
woman that he actually wanted to spend time with outside of the bedroom. It was cool,
though, because Alex took full responsibility and was honest about his intentions.
Alex was so focused on growing the family business he didn’t have time for
romantic distractions. Even if he would have had the inclination to seek it out, he didn’t,
not because he was a cold bastard, but it was just a choice that worked.
“Why do you say that?” Alex asked with sincere interest, pulling out a stool and
finally sitting down. Where is he going with this?
“You’d better get prepared for a shit storm, man. That’s all I’m saying.” Alex
glanced at his friend and Darian’s eyes widened, but only very slightly. “Whitney called
in to the show tonight.”
An angry flush rose up underneath Alex’s skin at the implication of Darian’s
comment. His expression hardened and the muscle in his jaw started to twitch. Part of the
bargain was that he’d provide Whitney with an apartment and bank account, and she’d
keep her mouth shut about the true nature of their relationship and not try to turn it into
more than it was.
“She did what?” His tone was quiet, but edged in steel.
They were both seated at the bar, facing in, and Darian glanced at his friend’s tense
expression in the mirror. Alex set his glass down hard enough to have the liquid swishing
over the rim, which prompted Darian to answer.
“She called the show.” Darian shrugged, trying to hide a smile but glanced at his
friend from the corner of his eye. He never liked that fake bitch, and the sooner Alex
walked, the happier he’d be.
It was clear that the news made Alex angry, but he was good at keeping his cool;
years of practice being detached and indifferent helped him regain his composure
quickly. He ran a hand over the lower half of his face. “Really? What did she say?”
“That you make her feel invisible.” Darian set his beer on the bar and shifted in his
seat. The bartender approached both men to see if they needed another round, but he held
his hand up and shook his head, quickly letting the man know that this was not a good
time. The savvy bartender took the hint and turned away in a hurry, silently nodding in
understanding.
Alex felt a slight twinge of regret. He cared about Whitney, as much as he’d ever
cared about a woman, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Maybe he did make her feel
invisible, but then, she made him feel like a bank account. “Well, that’s about right.”
Alex said quietly and shrugged. “I’m getting ready to end it anyway. I’m just not
interested. It isn’t working anymore. She’s always on my ass for more time, more money,
more… shit.”
“More sex?” Darian asked in wonder. “I agree, you could do better on many levels,
but in that one aspect, you’re such a poor bastard. I feel so sorry for you, Alex.”
“I said more shit, dickhead. But, I suppose she’d want more sex if I were so
inclined.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t find her exciting anymore. I’m not sure I
ever did, but lately, she gives me a fucking headache.” Darian chuckled. “I’m aware she
wants more, but she knew what to expect from the first time I took her to bed.” Alex
knew that sexually she was satisfied. He could make her moan like a bitch in heat, but
even in their most intimate moments, it was nothing more than screwing and he knew it.
“On the other hand, she cares more about herself than she does me.”
“I thought that was what you wanted—no feelings.”
“It was. It is. But not when the desire is gone. And she pretty much douses that
whenever she opens her damn mouth. So, what did your doctor tell her?”
“Basically, she told her to dump your sorry ass.”
The bartender came over again, and this time, Darian ordered another round as his
friend sat on the bar stool in contemplative silence. “So I guess we’ll see if she takes
Angel’s advice.” He dipped his head to hide the smirk that was spreading across his face.
Angel.
Alex felt a jolt at the sound of the name, and he turned it over in his head a few
times, trying to get a picture of her to form in his mind. He wondered if everything
Darian said about her was true. Alex pictured a stodgy, passionless shrew that got off by
analyzing other people’s lives due to lack of one of her own. But the name… maybe there
was something to Darian’s description of her. Suddenly, he was intrigued and the hair on
the back of his neck prickled.
Who the fuck does she think she was to tell my mistress to end things without
knowing both sides of the story? And why the hell do I care anyway? he asked himself.
He wanted out so however that happened, didn’t matter.
“I wonder if she would’ve told Whitney the same thing if she’d known my side of
the situation.”
Darian watched as Alex got lost in his thoughts and spoke as if he were talking to
himself.
“Yes, I told her. But only after Angel ended the call, of course. I couldn’t say
anything while she had Whitney on the phone.”
Alex sat back in his chair and turned sharply toward Darian. “What? You didn’t use
my name did you? I don’t need my personal bullshit under public scrutiny, Darian.”
“Relax, Alex. I’m not stupid. Whitney used your first name, and I didn’t mention
your surname or Avery Enterprises. I told Angel that you’re a very focused individual
and you were upfront when you got into one of your arrangements.”
“Arrangements? She probably thinks I’m a dick.”
“Yeah, so?” Darian’s tone was sardonic and he smirked. “Aren’t they?
Arrangements?”
Alex couldn’t argue, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t chagrined, but he was amused
by the direction of their conversation and, against his better judgment, intrigued by the
faceless Angel. “And? What was her opinion?”
Darian’s lips lifted slightly; amused that his friend seemed so interested in something
he professed not to give a shit about.
“She doesn’t believe that you don’t know that you’re hurting these women. I think
her exact words were: ‘your friend clearly knows how this shit works, hence his carefully
laid out escape clause,’” Darian mocked with a quirk of his lips.
Alex leaned his elbows on the bar as a slow, devious grin spread across his face. “It’s
too bad she’s probably stiff, closeted, and frigid as hell. I think my dick just got hard.” He
looked down at his glass and chuckled out loud.
Darian burst out laughing. He knew that intelligence was what Alex needed in a
woman. Maybe he’d open up his heart and mind to more than just a sexual relationship if
he could find someone to stimulate him above the belt. If there was anything that turned
Alex on, it was a challenge.
“You don’t even know what she looks like. God help you, then, because, you’ll be in
a world of hurt. And, her wit is sharp as hell.”
“Whatever,” Alex dismissed, but his phone intruded into his musings again. He
pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.
Alex, get your ass over here now, or it’s OVER!
“Ugh, fuck. D, I have to go. And, Cole is in danger of getting his cock cut off by that
banshee. Can you make sure to get him home? They’re doing some serious damage to
each other down there.” Alex nodded his head in Cole’s direction and shook it in
disapproval. “The family doesn’t need any bad publicity because he can’t control his
johnson. I love my brother, but he doesn’t always think with his head.”
“Oh? The text must have been from your lady,” Darian speculated and took another
long pull on his beer. Alex outwardly cringed at the words ‘his lady’, not really sure how
to classify her anymore, but surely the screaming shrew she’d become certainly didn’t fit
that profile.
“Apparently, she isn’t taking your girl’s advice. I’m being summoned or it’s over,”
Alex said with blasé sarcasm. He was not looking forward to that conversation. With a
roll of his eyes, he slammed the rest of his drink and walked over to Cole, putting a hand
on his shoulder. “Cole, I gotta bounce. See you on Sunday.”
“Dude! Don’t go, Alex. Things are just starting to happen. This is Ruby,” Cole said
happily, his speech slurred by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed in the past two
hours. Alex’s eyes drifted over the redhead that was draped around his brother’s neck and
took note how her blue eyes looked him up and down. He felt disgusted as he
acknowledged the woman. She was elegantly dressed with bright red polish on her long
fingernails, but Alex felt bile rise in his throat. She might look expensive, but Alex knew
trash when he saw it. Her blatant appraisal of his dark good looks made it clear that she’d
move on to a better offer without thinking twice.
“Nice to meet you. Goodnight, Cole.”
It’s bitches like that who make me avoid relationships like the plague. Just like
Whitney. If Alex were honest with himself, he had to admit it. So fake, so grasping and
calculating, Alex thought as he turned and walked out. It was obvious that Ruby wasn’t
interested in Cole. He was just her next victim, and she would have dropped him like a
hot potato if I’d snapped my fingers.
“It’s no fucking wonder I’m the way I am,” he muttered under his breath as he
walked the four blocks to the garage where his car was parked. “No fucking wonder.”
*****
As he drove the few miles to Whitney’s apartment, Alex tried to dig up some feeling for
the woman he’d been sleeping with for the past year and a half. Sure, she was beautiful,
but she was shallow. She was more interested in shopping than what was going on in the
world, and she bored the shit out of him. He sighed heavily for letting her physical
attributes sway him in the first place. He’d desired her and so he took her. It was easy,
like everything else in his life. Sure, he worked his ass off, but making money out of
nothing was what he loved best, and he was good at it. That was easy for him, too.
After leaving his Audi with the valet, he swiped the key card in the security door,
and the doorman greeted him.
“Good evening, Mr. Avery.”
“Good evening, George. How have you been?”
“Good, sir. It’s been a while. Nice to see you.”
Alex nodded. Yes, it had been a while. At least a month since he’d been there. “You,
too.”
He straightened his suit jacket and pulled on the cuffs of both of his sleeves as he
watched the lights in the elevator climb to the eleventh floor of the upscale apartment
building.
He’d met Whitney through his sister two years ago, and after several phone calls and
a couple of obvious occasions where she’d dropped by his office, he’d finally asked her
out to dinner. Alex shook his head, remembering. He should have his head examined for
being so easily called into play. She had a great body and the sex had been good, but they
had nothing of real substance to talk about. Whitney worked at an art gallery downtown
and was constantly trying to get Alex to purchase some god-awful piece from whoever
her newest client was. One of the closets in his spare bedroom was shoved full of the
damn things.
Alex ran a hand over the back of his neck as he approached the door and sighed
heavily. For what he hoped would be the last time, he took out his key and put it in the
lock. As he pushed the large oak door open, he heard music coming from the bedroom. A
lone light in the hall cast an eerie glow into the living and dining rooms. The apartment
was small but very expensive, and he’d shelled out loads of money on the furnishings that
Whitney wanted. Alex glanced around and quickly moved across the room to the bar,
taking off his black Armani suit jacket, and loosening his green silk tie as he went.
He pulled out a glass and added ice and two fingers of scotch before he heard
Whitney behind him.
“Well, well… to what do I owe this honor?” she asked snidely.
Alex’s mouth tightened. He had no time or inclination to play games. “You asked me
to show up. I’m here.” He glanced over his shoulder before he slammed his drink and
picked up the scotch bottle to refill it. “Or was that message meant for someone else?” He
laughed coldly. “The closing led me to believe it was for me, and if you’re expecting me
to play nice, your greeting was sorely lacking.” Alex was numb. Not uncomfortable, not
nervous, not… moved. He just didn’t give a fuck.
He tensed when she came up behind him and started to slide her hands around his
waist. Considering her pissy demeanor, this wasn’t what he was expecting, but her
nearness did nothing for him as she molded herself against his back.
“What is it you wanted?” His voice was flat as he twisted out of her hold and moved
to a chair in front of the big glass window in the living room. The lights of downtown
Chicago flickered as he sank down into its softness. Alex’s mind raced with what to do
about an almost unbearable situation. He itched to get the fuck out of there and never deal
with this shit again. Or, it could be just like the hundred other nights he’d spent in this
apartment. A few drinks, they’d fuck, and then… nothing. He’d get up and leave and that
would be the end of it… but tonight, he wanted it to be the end. For good.
She followed him and knelt down behind the chair.
“Whitney. Answer the goddamned question. What—do—you—want?”
She reached around and ran a hand down his chest, turning her head and pulling his
earlobe into her mouth and raking it with her teeth, trying to get a reaction out of him. If
he closed his eyes, he could let it happen, but did he really want to? He pulled away just
enough for her mouth to leave his skin.
“So, you want to fuck?” Alex asked bluntly over his shoulder. His tone was sour and
it sounded harsh, even to his own ears. He felt dead inside, indifferent. He could take it or
leave it.
She froze. “No. I want you to give a shit about me. I want you to stop fucking around
with your friends,” she said harshly.
“We’ve been over this countless times. The conversation is getting old.” He lifted
her hand off of his body and flung it aside, and she gasped in response.
Her voice turned sickeningly sweet as she changed her tack, and her hands returned
to his chest again. “Alex, I want you to make love to me…” she purred, as she started to
pull his tie completely undone and open a couple of the buttons on his white shirt. His
hand came up to cover hers and stop her movement. He stood up, effectively breaking the
contact and took a few steps toward the window, away from her.
“When have we ever made love? We fuck,” he dismissed.
She gasped, a shocked expression flashing across her face. “Do you have to be such
a bastard?” she rasped out loudly. “You think because you’re rich and good-looking, you
can treat me like trash? You’re such a prick!”
He turned and looked at her for the first time. She was dressed in some outrageously
expensive lingerie with ridiculous feather trim on the robe that hung open to reveal only
lace panties and a matching bra underneath. His eyes traveled down her body
indifferently, and he took another sip from his glass. Her body was beautiful—there was
no denying that—with voluptuous curves in all the right places. Except for those silicone
tits that she’d insisted on getting last year. They’d cost him thousands and he couldn’t
care less. Alex watched her with his eyes, but his fingers and lips wanted soft, warm, and
real. Not hard, plastic, and fake. Maybe he was getting old, like his mother had warned
him about. He shook off the thought as quickly as it came. He needed to get this shit out
of the way.
“How am I a bastard?” he asked flatly, waving his hand casually around at the
elegantly furnished apartment. “You have everything you need. I told you in the
beginning that this was a physical relationship for me. That’s what fits into my lifestyle.
You agreed. I never lied to you about my intentions, and nothing has changed. I still
don’t want more than that. But lately, even sex… It’s like fucking a Barbie doll. If I
wanted a blow-up doll, I’m sure they’re a hell of a lot less expensive than what you
managed to suck out of me every month.” He was cold; he knew it and he didn’t care.
Her blue eyes hardened, and she scowled at him. “It’s the least you can do, you lousy
bastard.” Her voice finally broke on the words, and Alex felt a twinge of regret despite
himself. “After all this time, don’t you care for me at all?”
“Not in the way you want. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I want you to be
safe and happy, but I’m certainly not in love with you, Whitney. I’m not sure I’m even
capable of those types of feelings. I won’t apologize for being the way I told you I’d be.”
She huffed, and her eyes welled with angry tears at the cold tone in his voice. “I
don’t believe you, Alex. You show up here maybe once or twice a month for sex and
that’s it?”
“No, that’s not it. We do things. I take you places and on trips… it’s known in my
circle that you and I are together. I don’t treat you like a whore. What the fuck do you
want from me?” Alex said shortly. He felt suffocated, caustic… like a caged animal that
wanted freedom.
“More,” Whitney said, simply.
Alex sighed. There just wasn’t more.
“I’m very busy running the company, and I don’t want or need romantic bullshit!”
Alex’s voice took on a harsher tone. “Shit, half of the time I’m not even in town, for
Christ’s sake! I’m not going to argue about this, and I don’t feel the need to repeat
myself. This is how it is! Take it or leave it.”
Fuck! Did I just give her a choice? He wanted to kick his own ass.
She put her hand over her mouth and turned away. “Is there something that you need
from me, that I don’t give you, Alex?” Her voice was smarmy and evil sounding. “Don’t
I make you come hard enough? Isn’t my pussy tight enough or my tits big enough?”
He sucked in a deep breath. There were many things he could add, but he wasn’t
going to add insult to injury. “Shut the hell up! You sound like trash when you talk that
way! It isn’t that complicated! It just doesn’t feel right anymore! For either of us. Just see
it for what it is.”
“What is it?”
“What. It. Is. Nothing more, nothing less,” Alex said shortly. His tone was dull,
devoid of absolutely all emotion.
She pursed her lips and looked at the floor, nodding her head slightly. “I guess I’ll
leave it then. I want to get married and have kids. I wanted that with you.” She let out a
shaky breath. “I know. Who would have thought it? Me. Wanting to be a mother?”
Alex moved across the room and set his glass down on the end table so he could pull
her lightly into his arms, and she laid her head down on his shoulder and cried softly.
Children weren’t something he considered, but he did know that if he ever did, it
wouldn’t be with this woman.
“Alex, I love you.”
Instantly he stiffened, her words reminding him that she was not what he wanted,
and he couldn’t give her what she needed.
“Stop. I know you think saying that will change my mind, but it won’t. It has the
opposite result.” All these months of her demanding money and incessantly hissing in his
ear had left him with no emotions for her. It showed in how he spoke to her, his cold
demeanor, and his stiffness as he pushed her gently away. “I’m sorry, but this is over.
You can stay in the apartment. I’ll keep paying for it until you tell me you’re settled or…
whatever.”
He pulled her arms from around him and left her standing in the middle of the room.
She followed after him, wrapping her hands around his body and pulling his unresponsive
form as close to her as she possibly could. “Don’t go. Make love to me, just once. Just
one more time. Then you can leave—” she begged, desperation hanging heavily on her
words, “—if you still want to.”
Alex inwardly cringed. As virile as he was, as much as he loved sex, the thought of it
with Whitney in this circumstance left him cold. He stilled and pulled her arms from
around his body once again. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Whitney. But I’m just… not into
this anymore. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but I don’t want to drag this shit out. Just let
it go.”
Her face became hard and filled with anger. “So this is it? Just like that?”
“Hardly just like that. Be honest. It hasn’t been exciting for months. We want
different things out of relationships, and you’re materialism has killed the desire for me.”
He turned and picked up his tie and jacket as he made his way toward the door. “Call
Mrs. Dane if you need anything and she’ll make sure you are taken care of.” Alex wanted
nothing more than to be done with her but felt a certain responsibility. His personal
assistant could take care of any loose ends. That was her job and she was excellent at it.
“You dick! I hate you!” She picked up the glass he had left on the table and flung it
at him. “I hate you! Do you hear me? You’re a fucking bastard, Alex!” she screamed
after him, but he kept walking as if she hadn’t uttered a word.
“So you’ve said.” He always hated this part of it, but it was inevitable. Every woman
he’d ever dated had ended up wanting more, and the more they wanted, the more he
pulled away. He didn’t just get bored and lose interest, he felt suffocated.
The door shut quietly behind him. His usual pattern was repeating itself yet again.
No emotion, no anxiety, no remorse—just relief.
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